“He never got a chance to destroy the city,” Jennsen said. “When we arrived at the Confessors’ Palace, Emperor Jagang thought he had you and Richard cornered. But out in front waited a spear holding the head of the emperor’s revered spiritual leader: Brother Narev.” Her voice lowered meaningfully. “Jagang found the message left with the head.”
Kahlan remembered well the day Richard had sent the head of that evil man, along with a message for Jagang, on the long journey north. “‘Compliments of Richard Rahl.’”
“That’s right,” Jennsen said. “You can’t imagine Jagang’s rage.” She paused to be certain Kahlan heeded her warning. “He’ll do anything to get his hands on you and Richard.”
Kahlan hardly needed Jennsen to tell her how much Jagang wanted them.
“All the more reason to get away—hide somewhere,” Cara said.
“And the races?” Kahlan reminded her.
Cara cast a suggestive look at Jennsen before speaking in a quiet voice to Kahlan. “If we do something about the rest of it, maybe that problem would go away, too.” Cara’s goal was to protect Richard. She would be perfectly happy to put him in a hole somewhere and board him over if she thought doing so would keep harm from reaching him.
Jennsen waited, watching the two of them. Kahlan wasn’t at all sure there was anything Jennsen could do. Richard had thought it over and had come to have serious doubts. Kahlan had been amply skeptical without Richard’s doubts. Still…
“Maybe” was all she said.
“If there’s anything I can do, I want to try it.” Jennsen fussed with a button on the front of her dress. “Richard doesn’t think I can help. If it involves magic, wouldn’t he know? Richard is a wizard, he would know about magic.”
Kahlan sighed. There was so much more to it. “Richard was raised in Westland—far from the Midlands, even farther from D’Hara. He grew up in isolation from the rest of the New World, never knowing anything at all about the gift. Despite all he’s so far learned and some of the remarkable things he’s accomplished, he still knows very little of his birthright.”
They had already told Jennsen this, but she seemed skeptical, as if she suspected there was a certain amount of exaggeration in what they were telling her about Richard’s unfamiliarity with his own gift. Her big brother had, after all, in one day rescued her from a lifetime of terror. Such a profound awakening probably seemed tangled in magic to one so devoid of it. Perhaps it was.
“Well, if Richard is as ignorant of magic as you say,” Jennsen pressed in a meaningful voice, finally having arrived at the heart of her purpose, “then maybe we shouldn’t worry so much about what he thinks. Maybe we should just not tell him and go ahead and do whatever it is Cara wants me to do to fix your problem and get the races off your backs.”
Nearby, Betty contentedly licked clean her little white twins. The sweltering darkness and vast weight of the surrounding silence seemed as eternal as death itself.
Kahlan gently took ahold of Jennsen’s collar. “I grew up walking the corridors of the Wizard’s Keep and the Confessors’ Palace. I know a lot about magic.”
She pulled the young woman closer. “I can tell you that such naive notions, when applied to ominous matters like this, can easily get people killed. There is always the possibility that it’s as simple as you fancy, but most likely it’s complex beyond your imagination and any rash attempt at a remedy could ignite a conflagration that would consume us all. Added to all that is the grave peril of not knowing how someone, such as yourself, someone so pristinely ungifted as to be forewarned of in that ancient book Richard has, might affect the equation.
“There are times when there is no choice but to act immediately; even then it must be with your best judgment, using all your experience and everything you do know. As long as there’s a choice, though, you don’t act in matters of magic until you can be sure of the consequence. You don’t ever just take a stab in the dark.”
Kahlan knew all too well the terrible truth of such an admonition. Jennsen seemed unconvinced. “But if he doesn’t really know much about magic, his fears might only be—”
“I’ve walked through dead cities, walked among the mutilated bodies of men, women, and children the Imperial Order has left in their wake. I’ve seen young women not as old as you make thoughtless, innocent mistakes and end up chained to a stake to be used by gangs of soldiers for days before being tortured to death just for the amusement of men who get sick pleasure out of raping a woman as she’s in the throes of death.”
Kahlan gritted her teeth as memories flashed mercilessly before her mind’s eye. She tightened her grip on Jennsen’s collar.
“All of my sister Confessors died in such a fashion, and they knew about their power and how to use it. The men who caught them knew, too, and used that knowledge against them. My closest girlhood friend died in my arms after such men were finished with her.
“Life means nothing to people like that; they worship death.
“Those are the kind of people who butchered your mother. Those are the kind of people who will have us, too, if we make a mistake. Those are the kind of people laying traps for us—including traps constructed of magic.
“As for Richard not knowing about magic, there are times when he is so ignorant of the simplest things that I can scarcely believe it and must remind myself that he grew up not being taught anything at all about his gift. In those things, I try to be patient and to guide him as best I can. He takes very seriously what I tell him.
“There are other times when I suspect that he actually grasps complexities of magic that neither I nor anyone alive has ever before fathomed or even so much as imagined. In those things he must be his own guide.
“The lives of a great many good people depend on us not making careless mistakes, especially careless mistakes with magic. As the Mother Confessor I’ll not allow reckless whim to jeopardize all those lives. Now, do you understand me?”
Kahlan had nightmares about the things she had seen, about those who had been caught, about those who had made a simple mistake and paid the price with their life. She was not many years beyond Jennsen’s age, but right then that gulf was vastly more than a mere handful of years.
Kahlan gave Jennsen’s collar a sharp yank. “Do you understand me?”
Wide-eyed, Jennsen swallowed. “Yes, Mother Confessor.” Finally, her gaze broke toward the ground.
Only then did Kahlan release her.
Chapter 4
“Anyone hungry?” Tom called to the three women.
Richard pulled a lantern from the wagon and, after finally getting it lit with a steel and flint, set it on a shelf of rock. He passed a suspicious look among the three women as they approached, but apparently thought better of saying anything.
As Kahlan sat close at Richard’s side, Tom offered him the first chunk he sliced from a long length of sausage. When Richard declined, Kahlan accepted it. Tom sliced off another piece and passed it to Cara and then another to Friedrich.
Jennsen had gone to the wagon to search through her pack. Kahlan thought that maybe she just wanted to be alone a moment to collect herself. Kahlan knew how harsh her words had sounded, but she couldn’t allow herself to do Jennsen the disservice of coddling her with pleasing lies.
With Jennsen reassuringly close by, Betty lay down beside Rusty, Jennsen’s red roan mare. The horse and the goat were fast friends. The other horses seemed pleased by the visitor and took keen interest in her two kids, giving them a good sniff when they came close enough.
When Jennsen walked over displaying a small piece of carrot, Betty rose up in a rush. Her tail went into a blur of expectant wagging. The horses whinnied and tossed their heads, hoping not to be left out. Each in turn received a small treat and a scratch behind the ears.
Had they a fire, they could have cooked a stew, rice, or beans; griddled some bannock; or maybe have made a nice soup. Despite how hungry she was, Kahlan didn’t think she would have had the energy to cook, so she wa
s content to settle for what was at hand. Jennsen retrieved strips of dried meat from her pack, offering them around. Richard declined this, too, instead eating hard travel biscuits, nuts, and dried fruit.
“But don’t you want any meat?” Jennsen asked as she sat down on her bedroll opposite him. “You need more than that to eat. You need something substantial.”
“I can’t eat meat. Not since the gift came to life in me.”
Jennsen’s wrinkled her nose with a puzzled look. “Why would your gift not allow you to eat meat?”
Richard leaned to the side, resting his weight on an elbow as he momentarily surveyed the sweep of stars, searching for the words to explain. “Balance, in nature,” he said at last, “is a condition resulting from the interaction of all things in existence. On a simple level, look at how predators and prey are in balance. If there were too many predators, and the prey were all eaten, then the thriving predators, too, would end up starving and dying out.
“The lack of balance would be deadly to both prey and predator; the world, for them both, would end. They exist in balance because acting in accordance with their nature results in balance. Balance is not their conscious intent.
“People are different. Without our conscious intent, we don’t necessarily achieve the balance that our survival often requires.
“We must learn to use our minds, to think, if we’re to survive. We plant crops, we hunt for fur to keep us warm, or raise sheep and gather their wool and learn how to weave it into cloth. We have to learn how to build shelter. We balance the value of one thing against another and trade goods to exchange what we’ve made for what we need that others have made or grown or built or woven or hunted.
“We balance what we need with what we know of the realities of the world. We balance what we want against our rational self-interest, not against fulfilling a momentary impulse, because we know that our long-term survival requires it. We use wood to build a fire in the hearth in order to keep from freezing on a winter night, but, despite how cold we might be when we’re building the fire, we don’t build the fire too big, knowing that to do so would risk burning our shelter down after we’re warm and asleep.”
“But people also act out of shortsighted selfishness, greed, and lust for power. They destroy lives.” Jennsen lifted her arm out toward the darkness. “Look at what the Imperial Order is doing—and succeeding at. They don’t care about weaving wool or building houses or trading goods. They slaughter people just for conquest. They take what they want.”
“And we resist them. We’ve learned to understand the value of life, so we fight to reestablish reason. We are the balance.”
Jennsen hooked some of her hair back behind an ear. “What does all this have to do with not eating meat?”
“I was told that wizards, too, must balance themselves, their gift—their power—in the things they do. I fight against those, like the Imperial Order, who would destroy life because it has no value to them, but that requires that I do the same terrible thing by destroying what is my highest value—life. Since my gift has to do with being a warrior, abstinence from eating meat is believed to be the balance for the killing I’m forced to do.”
“What happens if you eat meat?”
Kahlan knew that Richard had cause, from only the day before, to need the balance of not eating meat.
“Even the idea of eating meat nauseates me. I’ve done it when I’ve had to, but it’s something I avoid if at all possible. Magic deprived of balance has grave consequences, just like building a fire in the hearth.”
The thought occurred to Kahlan that Richard carried the Sword of Truth, and perhaps that weapon also imposed its own need for balance. Richard had been rightly named the Seeker of Truth by the First Wizard himself, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander—Zedd, Richard’s grandfather, the man who had helped raise him, and from whom Richard had additionally inherited the gift. Richard’s gift had been passed down not only from the Rahl bloodline, but the Zorander as well. Balance indeed.
Rightly named Seekers had been carrying that very same sword for nearly three thousand years. Perhaps Richard’s understanding of the need for balance had helped him to survive the things he’d faced.
With her teeth, Jennsen tugged off a strip of dried meat as she thought it over. “So, because you have to fight and sometimes kill people, you can’t eat meat as the balance for that terrible act?”
Richard nodded as he chewed dried apricots.
“It must be dreadful to have the gift,” Jennsen said in a quiet voice. “To have something so destructive that it requires you balance it in some way.”
She looked away from Richard’s gray eyes. Kahlan knew what a difficult experience it sometimes was to meet his direct and incisive gaze.
“I used to feel that way,” he said, “when I first was named the Seeker and given the sword, and even more so later, when I learned that I had the gift. I didn’t want to have the gift, didn’t want the things the gift could do, just as I hadn’t wanted the sword because of the things in me that I thought shouldn’t ever be brought out.”
“But now you don’t mind as much, having the sword, or the gift?”
“You have a knife and have used it.” Richard leaned toward her, holding out his hands. “You have hands. Do you hate your knife, or hands?”
“Of course not. But what does that have to do with having the gift?”
“Having the gift is simply how I was born, like being born male, or female, or with blue, or brown, or green eyes—or with two hands. I don’t hate my hands because I could potentially strangle someone with them. It’s my mind that directs my hands. My hands don’t act of their own accord; to think so is to ignore the truth of what each thing is, its true nature. You have to recognize the truth of things if you’re to achieve balance—or come to truly understand anything, for that matter.”
Kahlan wondered why she didn’t require balance the way Richard did. Why was it so vital for him, but not for her? Despite how much she wanted to go to sleep, she couldn’t keep silent. “I often use my Confessor’s power for that same end—to kill—and I don’t have to keep in balance by not eating meat.”
“The Sisters of the Light claim that the veil that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead is maintained through magic. More precisely, they claim that the veil is here,” Richard said, tapping the side of his temple, “in those of us who have the gift—wizards and to a lesser extent sorceresses. They claim that balance for those of us with the gift is essential because in us, within our gift, resides the veil, making us, in essence, the guardians of the veil, the balance between worlds.
“Maybe they’re right. I have both sides of the gift: Additive and Subtractive. Maybe that makes it different for me. Maybe having both sides makes it more important than usual for me to keep my gift in balance.”
Kahlan wondered just how much of that might be true. She feared to think how extensively the balance of magic itself had been altered by her doing.
The world was unraveling, in more ways than one. But there had been no choice.
Cara dismissively waggled a piece of dried meat before them. “All this balance business is just a message from the good spirits—in that other world—telling Lord Rahl to leave such fighting to us. If he did, then he wouldn’t have to worry about balance, or what he can and can’t eat. If he would stop putting himself in mortal danger then his balance would be just fine and he could eat a whole goat.”
Jennsen’s eyebrows went up.
“You know what I mean,” Cara grumbled.
Tom leaned in. “Maybe Mistress Cara is right, Lord Rahl. You have people to protect you. You should let them do it and you could better put your abilities to the task of being the Lord Rahl.”
Richard closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “If I had to wait for Cara to save me all the time, I’m afraid I’d have to do without a head.”
Cara rolled her eyes at his wisp of a smile and went back to her sausage.
/>
Studying his face in the dim light as he sucked on a small bite of dried biscuit, Kahlan thought that Richard didn’t look well, and that it was more than simply being exhausted. The soft glow of light from the lantern lit one side of his face, leaving the rest in darkness, as if he were only half there, half in this world and half in the world of darkness, as if he were the veil between.
She leaned close and brushed back the hair that had fallen across his forehead, using the excuse to feel his brow. He felt hot, but they were all hot and sweating, so she couldn’t really tell if he had a fever, but she didn’t think so.
Her hand slipped down to cup his face, kindling his smile. She thought she could lose herself in the pleasure of just looking into his eyes. It made her heart ache with joy to see his smile. She smiled back, a smile she gave no one but him.
Kahlan had an urge to kiss him, too, but there always seemed to be people around and the kind of kiss she really wanted to give him wasn’t the kind of kiss you gave in front of others.
“It seems so hard to imagine,” Friedrich said to Richard. “I mean, the Lord Rahl himself, not knowing about the gift as he grew up.” Friedrich shook his head. “It seems so hard to believe.”
“My grandfather, Zedd, has the gift,” Richard said as he leaned back. “He wanted to help raise me away from magic, much like Jennsen—hidden away where Darken Rahl couldn’t get at me. That’s why he wanted me raised in Westland, on the other side of the boundary from magic.”
“And even your grandfather—a wizard—never let on that he was gifted?” Tom asked.
“No, not until Kahlan came to Westland. Looking back on it, I realize that there were a lot of little things that told me he was more than he seemed, but growing up I never knew. He just always seemed wizardly to me in the sense that he seemed to know about everything in the world around us. He opened up that world for me, making me want to all the time know more, but the gift wasn’t ever the magic he showed me—life was what he showed me.”